Nobody Does It Better
by Caelia di Mekio
Summary: After the assassination of President Lamarque, James Enjolras brought up to the elite ABC agency, and assigned the codename of "The Chief." He sets out to find the terrorists responsible, the Patron Minette, and learns the way is through a young singer named Éponine, heir to the syndicate, and that Lamarque was only the first. Now, they must save the world before it's too late.
1. Prologue: Martyr's Blood

**_Full synopsis: __James Enjolras has been a desk agent for years, but when President Lamarque and his usual bodyguards are assassinated, James is brought up to the big leagues, the elite ABC division, and assigned the codename of "The Chief." He sets out to find the terrorist agency responsible, the Patron Minette. _**

**_Learning the way is through a budding young singer called Éponine Jondrette, James manages to get her alone, finding out that Éponine is, in fact, the daughter and unwilling successor of Richard Thénardier, the head of the syndicate, and that Lamarque was only the first of many planned assassinations meant to plunge the world into chaos. Now, the clock is ticking for an unlikely team to save the world before it's too late._**

**_Pairings: Enjonine (Éponine/Enjolras), Marius/Cosette, slight Éponine/Montparnasse._**

* * *

_Paris, France_

James Enjolras hunched over his desk, glancing out occasionally to watch President Lamarque's passing motorcade. People were waving and cheering outside, but the papers he was deciphering were revealing a far grimmer prospect. "Inspector!" he called, getting up and taking the file with him. "Inspector!"

"Enjolras, don't!" Marius Pontmercy hissed from his own desk. Enjolras ignored his roommate and kept his course towards Detective-Inspector Javert's office.

"Inspector!" he yelled again, banging on the window of the door until the worn, drooping face of Antoine Javert emerged. "Inspector, I think you should look at—"

"James Enjolras, how many times must I tell you that we do not have time to waste on your conspiracy theories?

"But sir, there's a bomb threat on the President today, I deciphered it—"

"The President is well protected, I assure you, let that be the end of it."

"Surely sending in a few extra agents wouldn't be amiss. I could—"

"You are a_ desk agent_." Javert interrupted. "And that is for a reason."

"Sir, with all due respect, I think I could do more good in the field—" A loud boom shook the building. Enjolras looked out to see a plume of black smoke already rising.

"Set one foot out of these offices and it will be the last thing you ever do on this force, I assure you," Javert warned.

"Really?" Enjolras's hand slid down to his holster, his fingers tightening around his MAC 50. "Marius, be sure to bring all my things home at the end of the day, all right?" With that, he pulled out the gun and shot one of the windows before returning the pistol to its holster.

"ARE YOU INSANE?" Marius yelled.

"Probably!" Enjolras yelled back, running out the window and grabbing the cable of a maintenance platform. The metal wires burned his hands as he slid down onto the platform and dropped the lever, plummeting towards the streets. The wind roared in his ears along with screams and sirens. As the platform jerked to a halt, he vaulted off of it and into the streets. The entire city seemed to be coming apart as the tongues of flame erupted forth. "Damn," he muttered, drawing his gun again, along with his ID. "I'M A GOVERNMENT AGENT!"he yelled. "LET ME THROUGH!" As he pushed past a trio of screaming women, he saw several emergency medics loading bodies from the wreckage onto gurneys. Most of them were burned beyond recognition, but he caught a glimpse of a ring on the fingers of one. A tricolor ring he'd seen countless times on the fingers of a very specific person. "Lamarque is dead," he whispered, dropping to his knees. His idol, the man he'd believed would create France's new Golden Age was dead. And so, he stood there, offering his silent prayer for the President as the chaos swirled around him.


	2. Promotion

"No, no, I'm fine, and I'm glad you're safe, too." Enjolras rolled his eyes as Marius paced back and forth, talking on the phone with his girlfriend. "You're joking! He's still open tonight? Oh, I see. Then I'll see you this evening. I love you, too." He hung up.

"'I love you, too.'" Enjolras mimicked, firing at the dartboard by their bookshelf. He'd taped a picture of Javert over it, and the dart landed between the inspector's eyes. "I probably kissed whoever it is you're dating right now. And before you."

"I highly doubt that, seeing as Cosette's father doesn't allow her to date without three letters of recommendation and extensive background checks. And don't try to be a smart aleck right now, I'm already mad at you. Javert's pushed all of your old work onto me." Marius snapped.

"Not my problem, this is my apartment, if you'll remember." Enjolras rolled over onto his side. "If you don't want to stay on here, I'm sure someone else can fit you in." The phone vibrated in Marius's hand. "You get it."

"Fine." Marius brought the phone up to his ear. "Allô?" He listened. "Just a minute, he's right here. Enjolras, it's for you."

Enjolras accepted the phone, hitting the hands free button. "James Enjolras speaking."

"Take this off speakerphone." The voice that came from the phone was filtered and distorted.

"Who's calling?"

"_Take this off speakerphone,_" the caller repeated. Enjolras raised the phone to his ear, switching back to handset mode.

"Is this better?"

"Much. We're calling to offer you the opportunity of a lifetime."

"Is this one of those scams for money? You offer me my dreams for the low price of thirty euros a day, or something?"

"You have no chance of serving your country acting like that, James Enjolras. Or do you not want to do more for the good of France?" Enjolras straightened.

"You have my attention."

"We want to offer you the opportunity to work with an elite organization. Directions are being sent to your mobile phone as we speak. You have half an hour to arrive at the rendezvous point."

"Hang on, I haven't accept—" The person on the other line hung up before he could finish. He slowly lowered his hand and stared at the phone, vaguely aware of his mobile beeping in his pocket.

"Who was that?" Marius asked. "Enjolras? Are you all right? You look like you just got hit by the Metro."

"Hmmm." Enjolras stood and walked to the cabinet they used to store their firearms.

"Hey. Hey. What are you doing? You're not allowed to carry a gun anymore!"

"I don't have my own gun, you mean. Javert didn't take away my license." Enjolras retorted, strapping the sole holster and pistol over his t-shirt. "I'm just taking it for protection. If this is a trap, I need to be prepared."

"If it's a trap, why are you going?"

"Because if it's not, I can't miss this chance." Enjolras pulled on his favorite red leather jacket. "I'll be fine, I promise."

"You're insane," Marius muttered. "But I'm not calling off a date with Cosette, so I suppose you're on your own."

"Fine with me. Enjoy your date with Colette."

"COSETTE."

"Whatever." Enjolras slipped out the door and pulled out his phone, reading the instructions that scrolled across the screen. They were meant to lead him to number 16 Rue des Grés, where he had to greet someone with a code given below. He wove his way through the city, reading as he went.

The streets of Paris were empty of pedestrians, a ghost city. The bars usually reserved for nighttime and Sundays had been pulled across every window, and black pennants were strung along tricolors from the windows of every apartment. The only people outside were policemen. A few of them looked over at him, mumbling indistinctly. They probably recognized him from the broadcasts of yesterday's events. He saluted them quickly and kept on his way.

Number 16 Rue des Grés turned out to be a small café, a few doors down from a McDonalds. The café had two tables in its open air section, one occupied by an old man sipping coffee. Enjolras took a seat at the empty table and sang softly. "A la volonté du peuple et à la santé du progrès?"

The old man set down his coffee and sang the reply, " Remplis ton cœur d'un vin rebelle et à demain, ami fidèle. James Enjolras, I presume?"

"Yes, I am. And you are?"

The old man smiled enigmatically. "Why don't we talk about that inside?" He tapped out a rhythm on the café's door and pushed it open. "Inside, quickly." Enjolras slipped through the door, the old man behind him. They were in a dark room, with only a faint glow from the walls providing light. "Guide, can we please have the screens back on in the entry room?" The walls flickered to life, revealing they were composed of television monitors that were displaying newsreels, maps and photographs. "Much better. Welcome to the ABC, James Enjolras."

"The ABC?" Enjolras repeated dumbly. "I thought it was an office legend."

"That's the best way to keep a secret intelligence agency a secret, wouldn't you say?"

"Well, I suppose so… But then, why am I here?"

"Why do you think?"

"I would guess that this is, what, a recruitment? But I don't have very much training."

"You have potential. We've been watching you for quite some time."

"Is that legal?"

"We have special provisions allowing us surveillance privileges. Additionally, we had automatic access to your files when you originally joined the force. Of course, your pedigree did help, too."

"My pedigree," Enjolras repeated dubiously. "Does that mean the ABC breeds agents?"

"If it did, we would have approached you much sooner. But until yesterday, we weren't sure if you would be what we needed. Now, tell me something. Do you want to join, or no?"

"I don't get more information?"

"One of the things you will need most of all is the ability to trust your instincts. So, tell me. What are your instincts telling you right now?"

Enjolras turned back to look at the old man. "I see. I would be serving France, then?"

"And the world at large. Do you have your answer?"  
"Where do I sign, sir?"

The old man smiled. "The Centre has your contract. He'll be here any minute to take you on a base tour before sending you to the Guide for gear and debriefing."

"Debriefing? Already?"

"Yes, already. Like I said, the Centre will explain. Welcome to the ABC, Enjolras, codenamed the Chief, of the Liberté division. I'm M." He tapped the wall and a door revealed itself. M stepped inside it, and the door slid closed in front of him.

"What does Liberté have to do with anything?" Enjolras wondered aloud.

"It's your branch assignment." A man around his age with curly black hair, eager dark eyes, and a Mediterranean complexion stepped out of a different wall, a large file tucked under his arm. "We've got three of them based on the motto of the Republic. Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité. This way." Enjolras followed him down the corridor. "I'm Alain Courfeyrac, by the way. Fraternité Agent. Codenamed the Centre. And you're what, Citizen Enjolras?"

"M called me the Chief and said I was being assigned to Liberté."

Courfeyrac stopped short. "He codenamed you already?"

"Is that significant?"

"There are only seven codenamed agents in the whole of the ABC Liberté division, and nine in the whole organization. One in each of the other two divisions."

"And you're the Fraternité codename agent?"

"I am. Fraternité agents are tasked with diplomacy and espionage. Égalité is in charge of domestic affairs. And Liberté duties go anywhere from reconnaissance to counter espionage. That's why they have seven codenamed agents. They need to be able to do anything."

"So, codenamed agents—"

"Are the ones licensed to kill as they deem necessary." Courfeyrac said, stopping in front of a door and punching a code into its keypad. The door slid open to reveal a large space filled with more screens, desks covered with papers and computers, and several workers. "Welcome to the Musain Command Centre."

"Alain!" A pale skinned man waved from his desk where he was nursing a bottle of absinthe. "Got plans for tonight?"

"A date, R, and you're not invited." Courfeyrac called back. "Enjolras, meet Nicolas Grantaire. We call him R. He's an Égalité analyst, and a cynic. Ignore him after this, he's hopeless." Grantaire's face twisted into a mask of annoyance before he took another swig of absinthe. "We only keep him around because he thinks outside the box so well."

"Hmm." Enjolras followed Courfeyrac through the web of tables. "Are they really licensing me to kill?"

"Did M give you the 'we value instincts' speech?"

"Yes."

"He definitely likes you, then. Down these stairs."

"Where are we going?" Enjolras asked, following down the steps.

"Égalité labs. It's where the Guide works. Oh..." Courfeyrac snatched a single sheet of paper out of his files. "Almost forgot the contract. Read it quickly."

"The Guide is the Égalité codenamed agent?" Enjolras asked, scanning through the document.

"Yeah, he is. COMBEFERRE!" Courfeyrac yelled the last word as they entered a room at the bottom of the staircase. A lanky, titian-haired man stuck his head up from the desk, scowling.

"Courfeyrac, how many times must I tell you not to yell in here, where I have sensitive equipment?!" he demanded, pulling a pair of black-rimmed glasses from his cardigan pocket. Courfeyrac shrugged and picked up a pen from the desk, passing it to Enjolras. Combeferre poked his finger at them. "So, that's the new Liberté agent? Enjolras, right?"

"Yes." Enjolras scribbled his signature hastily on the contract, and passed it back to Courfeyrac.

"He's in your hands, Ferre. I've got to check in with Feuilly. He's having far too much fun in Poland." Courfeyrac hurried back up the stairs. "Good luck, Enjolras!" he called over his shoulder.

"Walk with me." Combeferre grabbed Enjolras by the arm and pulled him along. "I know this is short-notice, but experience is the best teacher, so you're going to have to work with it. Besides, it's a fairly tame first field mission."

"What is?"

Combeferre stopped in front of a keyboard and typed in a series of commands. A picture appeared onscreen of an unusually attractive man. His coloring was was similar to Grantaire's, with pale skin and dark hair, but his features were more rugged. "According to our records, this is Lucien Montparnasse, a key member of the terrorist group known as the Patron-Minette."

"Is my job to hunt him down?"

"Not exactly." Combeferre switched the screen to a picture of a hotel. "We have a contact here, the owner of the Hotel Plumet, one Ultime Fauchelevant. He can give us more intelligence on the group. You'll be meeting him tonight."

"At the hotel?"

"You've got a seven o'clock meeting in the casino this evening." Combeferre reached under the desk and pulled out a shiny silver suitcase. "These will be your basic tools on every mission." He popped the latch, revealing a pistol, an Omega watch and red waistcoat inside. Enjolras lifted out the vest, grinning.

"Red. Perfect. How did you know?"

"Save the wisecracks, Enjolras, and listen. That vest is lined with Kevlar. It won't help much at point-blank range, but it may stop a sniper's bullet. Additionally, the top button contains a smokescreen pellet, which can be used to cover escapes."

"Is Fauchelevant not to be trusted, then?"

"It's better to err on the side of caution," Combeferre replied. "Now, your watch. Never take it off, it's got a homing device inside it. Go on."

Enjolras took the watch from the case and strapped it on his wrist. "And my gun? What's it going to be? An SR22? A Colt 380?"

"Walther PPK." Combeferre picked it up by the barrel. "M's idea. Something about your heritage." Enjolras scowled at him. "Oh, just take it. The handle will code itself to your handprint and heat signature." Enjolras wrapped his fingers around it and gave the grip a squeeze. "That's good. It's yours now, and only yours."

"I'll have to return my friend's, then, won't I?" Enjolras pulled out Marius's pistol, and Combeferre rolled his eyes.

"Go home, and get ready for this evening. Oh, and Enjolras?"

"Yes?"

"For what it's worth, I think you're here because of yourself. Not your parentage. Good luck at the Plumet."


	3. First Contact

Enjolras looked up at the grand façade of the Hôtel Plumet and tugged at his cufflinks in irritation. He hated places like these for two reasons. Firstly, they served as reminders of just how detached the social elite were from the rest of the world, as well as how careless they were. Secondly, this was the sort of place his father would frequent. And if there was one person in this world he detested, it was his father. But, as an agent of the ABC, he had a higher call now, so, he swallowed his distaste and made his way to the casino entrance.

"Monsieur? Your name?" the maitre d' asked.

"I've got a meeting with a Monsieur Fauchelevent for seven o' clock," Enjolras said. He'd not answered the question asked, but the man's eyes widened. "You know of me, then?"

"Yes, sir. Right up those stairs, second door on the left. Have a good evening."

"You as well," Enjolras replied automatically, already heading up the stairs. He found the aforementioned room easily and knocked three times. He was not expecting the person who opened it for him, however. "Marius?"

"Enjolras?"

"Are you Monsieur Fauchelevent?"

"What are you doing here?" Marius asked at the same time.

"Are you going to introduce us to your friend, Marius?" Enjolras noticed for the first time that they weren't alone. An older gentleman with a five o'clock shadow sat in a leather armchair, white leaking in to his grey hair. A young blonde girl with wide green eyes sat on one side of a plush sofa, keeping her head down demurely.

"Oh… of course, sir." Marius flushed a little. "Enjolras, this is Monsieur Ultime Fauchelevent, and his daughter, Cosette."

"Oh, so this is the famous Cosette. Marius speaks of you quite highly, mam'selle." Enjolras gave a small bow, then strode over to shake Fauchelevent's hand. "I'm Enjolras, sir. James Enjolras."

"A pleasure to meet a promising young man," replied Fauchelevent, gripping his hand firmly. "Would you like anything to drink, Enjolras?"

"Vodka martini, shaken not stirred," Enjolras said automatically. "Please."

"Follow me, then. The bar overlooks the stage, and the first show is about to start." Fauchelevent rose and led him to a large opening in the far wall, overlooking the rest of the casino.

"Show?" Enjolras repeated. "Does this have something to do with that business I was sent here to discuss?"

"Just a moment." Fauchelevent pulled out a small partition out of the wall and got to work on his drink. "I try to keep Cosette as ignorant of this part of my life as I can. Now, then, to answer your question, yes, the girl we're about to see does have something to do with the person you're looking for. Ah, here she is now."

A girl a few years younger than Enjolras, twenty-two at the oldest, stepped onto the stage below them, wearing a slinky turquoise dress that would have looked more appropriate at a dance hall than a casino. A man dressed in black stood next to her, and the band started playing the old Dean Martin song, _Sway_. "_When marimba rhythm starts to play, dance with me, make me sway!_" The girl moved fluidly against her partner, her voice powerful and energetic. "_Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore, hold me close, sway me more!_"

"That girl?" Enjolras made a face. "Decent enough voice, but really?"

"She's dating your man. Montparnasse. He goes by D'Artagnan here, but it's the same man. And Éponine is more than just his girlfriend. She's the heir to the Patron-Minette group." Enjolras almost dropped the martini glass Fauchelevent had just handed him.

"You're joking. That little girl, heir to a terrorist group?"

"That's why I hired her. Your M suggested it was the best way to keep an eye on her, and her family. I'm afraid I've not been very helpful, though, Éponine's very much an innocent, I think. Unless she's hiding something."

"Isn't that the point of it all?" Enjolras took a sip of his martini, never taking his eyes off the singer. "Secrets and lies? Hiding things?"

"I suppose." Fauchelevent shrugged.

"She performs every night, then?"

"She does. And he visits her every night after her second show. This one's her first. Do with that knowledge what you will, I suppose. But I do have one request."

"And that is?"

"That you be careful. I've already had my daughter in that group's clutches once, I don't want her getting hurt again."

"I'm not sure I understand, how is that possible?"

"Cosette is my daughter by adoption, her biological father is Félix Tholomyès."

"What, that great fat arse of a a politician?" Enjolras made a face. "How did that happen? Wait, never mind, it's not really relevant, is it?"

"No, I suppose not. Just… be wary. Tangling with the Patron Minette can result in those you care about getting hurt."

"They've already hurt what I care about." Enjolras said firmly. "They've hurt France. But I'll try to keep the carnage to a minimum." Fauchelevent chuckled a little. "Is it possible for me to meet this Éponine girl?"

"Her dressing room is backstage, three doors down from the private lounges. Enjolras, forgive me, but I have to ask. M sent me your credentials, and your father… is he really—"

"Yes." Enjolras interrupted, pushing the partition back into the wall. "Yes, he is."

"Well… then I hope you inherited his talents. You'll need them."

* * *

Éponine's least favorite time of night was always right after her first show. It had earned this spot by being dull with anticipation, waiting for Lucien. What was most annoying was that the first show was usually the high energy one and that left her exhausted and longing for something more than changing her clothes and waiting for the next show. So, naturally, it was more than a little unsettling when someone knocked on her door while she was halfway through changing. "Just a minute!" she yelled, grabbing her robe off its hook and wrapping it around her body before opening the door.

She'd been hoping it might've been Lucien on a surprise early visit, but instead of a rugged, dark haired, sweet faced bad boy beau, she found herself looking at a Greek statue come to life. He was all chiseled, angular features, dark blond hair swept off his high forehead, and immaculately dressed. "Well, hello."

"I wanted to thank you for your performance," he said, smiling at her warmly. "You're very talented."

"Most people would just send flowers." Eponine leaned against the door frame lazily. "You seem to be a little more eager."

"Is that a bad thing?" he asked boldly, looking directly into her eyes with a pair of pale, electric blue irises. Éponine raised her eyebrows, feigning shock.

"It is when I'm already seeing someone."

"Well, you're cocky, aren't you?" he quipped. "Are you so confident in your looks that you think that's why I'm here?"

"That's usually what people want." Éponine strode over to her vanity table and started fixing her makeup. "So, tell me, then. What is it _you _want, Monsieur?"

"Enjolras. James Enjolras," he said, remaining in the doorway. "And what I want is the chance to talk with you a little more extensively and intimately."

"I have a boyfriend already."

"I'm not interested in that. I want to know more about you. I'm a journalist, looking into up and coming singers."

"Really?" She turned back to him, her attention fully captured now. "Is that so?"

"Yes. So, will you reconsider meeting me for coffee tomorrow?"

"Why not? Shall we say half past eleven?"

"I think that should do quite nicely." He walked over to her, lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. Éponine felt herself flush a little. "Until then, Mademoiselle." He gave her a bow and slipped out of the dressing room. She stared at the door, then realized she had maybe seven minutes to finish with her makeup and changing. "James Enjolras," she repeated the name as she reapplied her mascara. "Interesting."

She switched to her second show dress, a royal blue one that hit at her calves and had one jeweled strap running along her right shoulder. Her last task was letting her dark hair out of its slick side ponytail so that it fell around her shoulders. She hurried into the wings as the first strains of the music began, and stepped onto the stage.

"_Anyone who ever loved could look at me, and know that I love you**… **Anyone who ever dreamed could look at me, and know I dream of you**, **knowing I love you so…_" The softer sounds wrapped their way through the room, bringing people's gazes onto her. Several card players relaxed their grip on their cards, and the waiters slowed their pace, just slightly. "_Anyone who had a heart would take me in his arms and love me, too**. **You couldn't really have a heart and hurt me, like you hurt me and be so untrue**! **What am I to do?_"

She spotted Enjolras, sitting in the owner's box next to Cosette Fauchelevent. Still singing, she kept her eyes on the box. Enjolras returned her gaze, while saying something to Cosette, who blushed and lowered her eyes. Éponine rolled her eyes and finished the song before switching to her next one. "_When you look at me, tell me, what you see? Do you see no love at all? Or do you see in me what you always see in every girl that you fall for?_"

Enjolras was leaning in closer to Cosette and listening to her whisper something in his ear. He pursed his lips and shook his head, pulling away, still keeping his eyes on Éponine. "_I will show you how love is meant to be. Just watch and learn and listen to me. Will you ever see the day heartache leads astray? Good love will always come from me! Will you ever learn to love without a little doubt? Good love will always come from me!_" She spun once and as she stopped, she realized Enjolras was no longer in the box, and Cosette was nestled into the arms of her beau.

And Lucien was watching her from the entrance to the casino, an oddly wicked smile on his face.


	4. New Orders

"Seems dubious," Combeferre twisted a pair of copper wires together. "She might have some ulterior motive—"

"If she knows that I'm an ABC agent, which I doubt, why bother acting the innocent?" Enjolras pointed out. "I'd think that would waste time, don't you?"

"I'm not paid to think like terrorists, or their offspring. I'm paid to create technology, and keep the records. I feel it's the most important job in this agency, and the reason for my codename."

"You mean they have reasons?" Enjolras asked.

"The Guide refers to my position: to keep the records of the ABC and its legacy safe. To guide us into a better age."

"Then what's the reason for calling me the Chief? There's no way M would put me in charge at this point, I've got no experience."

"The meaning of your codename is something you have to discover for yourself. Now, then…" Combeferre pulled up the image of a sleek black Mercedes. "This is what you'll be driving. We're calling this model the Barricade."

"Why couldn't it be red?"

"Enjolras, if you're not going to take this seriously, you don't get the car. Now, focus." Enjolras straightened, rolling his eyes at Combeferre's scolding. Combeferre pressed a few buttons, manipulating the car's image. "Now, the Barricade works with some of the same tech as your Walther, its steering wheel will respond to your touch, and yours alone. There's also cloaking technology I've been working on with MI6, and a subaquatic mode."

"And the button with the wings?" Enjolras pointed to the spot in question on the screen.

"Experimental aviation technology that will not be included on the model we give you. It's still in development." Combeferre explained. "We don't expect it to be ready for several years."

"Then why is it on the display screen?"

"Because I work on it in my spare time and this is the latest layout." Combeferre snapped testily. "Now, are we done with these questions, and may I proceed to explaining your final piece of weaponry?"

"By all means," Enjolras flourished his hand slightly, making Combeferre roll his eyes. "What is the final piece?"

"This." Combeferre held up a leather wrist cuff with a silver crest on it. The crest was engraved with the motto _ORBIT NON SUFFICIT_ underneath a shield with an upward pointing banner dotted with three circles. Enjolras grimaced, but accepted the cuff and started to strap it on his wrist. "Wait!" Combeferre hissed. Enjolras froze. "Close the snaps one at a time. If you press them both, the laser will come out."

"Laser?" Enjolras repeated. "You're kidding."

"It's as a last resort only," warned Combeferre as Enjolras closed the snaps individually. "You hit both those snaps at once, and the laser comes from the crest, fires three shots and then goes back in. It'll need a minute to recharge after firing, so keep that in mind."

"Minute recharge," Enjolras repeated. "I've got it. So, where's my car?"

* * *

Éponine looked down at the card in her hand. She hadn't even seen him flick it onto her vanity the previous night, but an address was written underneath his name, the address of the café where she was sitting now. "James Enjolras," she said his name again. "What do you want from me?"

"Well, we could start with the basics." She looked up to see him standing behind the chair opposite hers. He pulled out the chair and sat as he listed a few questions. "Where you're from, how long you've been training, your family life."

"Simple enough. I grew up in Montfermeil, started training when I was about twelve with my school's music teacher, and have been training ever since."

"And your family?" He leaned towards her.

"Well, my father…" A thought occurred to her. "Shouldn't you be writing this down?" she asked, pointing at his empty hands. "No pen, no paper, no recorder. What kind of journalist are you?" He looked down at his wrist, running his fingers along the leather cuff he was wearing. "Well? Answer me!"

"Look, this might not be the best place, if you want to—"

"I'm not going anywhere with you. You're being sent here by one of my father's rivals, aren't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." His face was stony and somber.

"You're trying too hard to hide something from me. Tell me the truth."

"Look, please, Mademoiselle Thénardier—"

"I knew it! You know my name!" she hissed. "You know my real name. Now, who are you? I want the truth, or I'll scream."

"It's really not that hard to learn your legal name, I just asked Fauchelevant."

"Oh…." Éponine faltered a little. "Um… sorry… It's just… my father, he's… um…well… "

"Maybe this isn't the best place?" Enjolras gestured to the few other patrons of the café, who were now staring at them. "I promise, you can trust me. I'm not going to hurt you, or use any of this information against you."

"Then you're not a journalist?"

"No, you were right about that, but I promise, you're not in danger from me."

"I don't understand. If you're not a journalist and you're not one of my father's rivals, what do you want from me?"

"Help." He grabbed her hand and stood, pulling her upwards. "Follow me."

"Wait, I should tell—" It was too late. The minute the two of them took one step away from the café, three gunmen started firing on them. Enjolras gave a wild yell and pulled Éponine close, picking her up and running. Éponine felt a bullet whiz past her cheek, nicking the skin and screamed, clutching at her face.

"Quiet!" Enjolras muttered, setting her down and pulling out a set of keys to open the parked Mercedes they were standing next to. The two doors next to them swung open and he unceremoniously shoved her in the backseat before sliding into the driver's seat.

"What the hell are you doing?" she demanded. He didn't answer, slamming down on the gas and taking off into the streets of Paris. "I'm calling the police!" She reached down to retrieve her mobile from the pocket of her jeans, but found nothing.

"There's a slight problem with that, Mademoiselle. I'm on the force. Beyond it, actually. So, no, I'm not a rival of your father's. He's my enemy. As are all enemies of France."

"I don't understand. Hey!" She grabbed onto the seat as they swerved to dodge another volley of bullets.

"Damn," he hissed. "I hope this works."

"What works?"

"I'd buckle that seatbelt if I were you." Enjolras warned. Éponine numbly did as he said just as he drove them off the road, across the grass and into the Seine.

"ARE YOU CRAZY?" she shrieked as they hit the water. Enjolras ignored her and punched a button on his dashboard. Shades rolled up on the windows and the car quickly became submerged. "We're not drowning." she realized.

"No, we're not." He punched another button, pulling up a video screen. "Chief to Guide, come in. I can't see you."

"We read you. And we see you," someone answered on the other end.

"I need an entrance canal. Can you send coordinates?"

"Sending them now. R and the Centre will be there for you. We saw everything that happened."

"Is M upset with me?"

"Well…"

"Tell me."

"He wants to see you when he gets off the phone with MI6." Maybe it was her imagination, but it seemed to Éponine that Enjolras had flinched. "Coordinates sent, you should be receiving them… now."

"Got them. Setting course." Enjolras switched the screen to a GPS. "Chief out."

"Chief?" Éponine repeated sourly. "Explain this. All of it. Now."

"You're being taken in for questioning by the ABC about the actions of your father regarding the assassination of President Lamarque."

"What the hell is the ABC?"

"Classified." He turned into a small tunnel that was opening in the side of the river.

"Impossible," Éponine gaped as they traveled. "This isn't real. This is a dream, right?" Enjolras didn't answer her as he drove. "Will you explain to me what the hell is going on?"

"We're here," he said vaguely, driving out of the water into a small, warmly lit cavern. Two men with dark curly hair were waiting for them, one with a healthy tan and a grin on his face, and the other pale and sour-faced, with dark circles under his eyes. Enjolras opened the door and stepped out.

"You amaze me," the happy one said.

"Thank you. I believe she's under your direction now."

"You believe correctly. And you're —"

"Headed to M's office, I know."

"R, can you show him the way, and send Joly back while you're at it?"

The pale man snorted a little and nodded. Enjolras groaned and followed him out of the cavern. Éponine remained sitting in the back, and the happy one opened the rear door. "Mademoiselle, perhaps we can remedy your situation? If you would follow me…"

* * *

Enjolras followed Grantaire down the corridors, his feeling of dread worsening as they went deeper and deeper in. "Relax," Grantaire's voice broke through to him. "Worse comes to worse, you'll have to spend a few hours doing paperwork. M clearly likes you. He's never had anyone as fervent about the cause as you."

"You must be joking. Surely everyone here believes in the Republic."

"They believe in it, but that doesn't mean they don't have other priorities. Family, relationships, you know."

"Really?" Enjolras said sullenly. "And what does a so-called cynic such as yourself believe in?"

Grantaire stopped and turned to look at Enjolras solemnly. "I believe in you. M's office is through there. Just give me a moment." He pushed open the oaken door they were standing in front of, triggering a shriek from inside. A few moments later, he emerged with another man in tow. "Enjolras of Liberté, meet Joly, Égalité member, and chief medical officer of the Musain. Go on in, Musichetta will page M."

"Pleasure to meet you," Joly called as he and Grantaire headed back down the corridor. Enjolras entered the office to see a petite girl behind a very messy desk, trying to tuck her mussed black hair into a bun.

"Enjolras? M's waiting for you." She pointed towards a leather covered door without looking up from straightening the calamity in front of her.

"Thank you." Enjolras knocked on the door and opened it a crack. "Sir?"

"Come in, Enjolras," M waved him in. "Sit down." Enjolras did as he was told, sitting in the chair across from M's large oak desk. "You've put us in a predicament, Enjolras. I hope you realize that."

"I wasn't aware I was breaking any rules, sir. I was under fire, and I hadn't gotten the information—"

"I know that, I was watching you. But the fact remains, Mademoiselle Thénardier will have to remain in our custody until this matter has been settled. She's too great a liability now to let her leave."

"I'm sorry, sir."

"The fault is mine, Enjolras. I thought you were ready."

"I am ready, sir, I want to do everything I can to help. France is… it's my life, sir."

M gave a small smile. "I'm glad you said that, Enjolras. Because I just got off the line with my counterpart at MI6. They've agreed to help us with the situation by sheltering the Thénardier girl in one of their safe houses. You're being assigned as her chaperone. And they've offered the services of one of their Double-0 agents as your mentor." Enjolras grimaced, getting a very good feeling of whom they had selected. "I want to make this perfectly clear, Enjolras, you will be expected to work with all kinds of people, despite your personal feelings towards them. This is an opportunity few people are given. I expect you to be a credit to the ABC."

"I wouldn't want to be a disappointment, sir."

"Then it's settled. Go home, and pack your things. Report here at seven in the morning."

"Yes, sir."


End file.
